Harry Potter, the Geek
by Andrius
Summary: A collection of cracky one-shots and drabbles unified by a single idea: Harry Potter is living in modern times, has access to the internet, and is a total geek. References to internet memes, video games, anime, etc. Set during OotP.
1. The Beginnings

He had to be the most bored wizard in whole England, Harry decided. There wasn't anything to read at Privet Drive #4 besides his old textbooks, he wasn't allowed to do magic, and couldn't even leave the neighbourhood due to security concerns. His friends apparently didn't think to write him any letters, either. Furthermore, Dursleys left for a trip one week into the summer holiday, leaving him all alone in the house. He had already cleaned the whole place from top to bottom, just like Aunt Petunia requested – nay, ordered – before leaving, and was currently out of his mind with boredom. Not that he missed his so-called "family", mind you – it's just that all the endless chores had a wonderful effect of making Harry forget certain events. Like witnessing the death of a fellow student, or being a guest of honor at a rebirth party of an insane dark wizard.

Great, he was thinking of that day again.

Harry sighed and got up from the bed where he had been lying for the past half an hour, contemplating a very interesting crack in the ceiling that kind of looked like a spider. He stretched and decided to go downstairs for a drink. As he was passing the door to Dudley's room, he got a sudden idea and stopped.

Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look?

Dursleys didn't deem him worthy of knowing how long their family holiday would take, but he figured it would be at least a week. They left very clear instructions regarding how much food he could take from the fridge, how much water he could use, and which places in the house were off-limits to him. The latter included Dudley's bedroom as well.

He shrugged and opened the door, feeling a bit excited about defying his aunt and uncle, even though he knew it was silly.

Dudley's room was surprisingly tidy, he noted, a sure sign that Aunt Petunia kad been there to clean up recently. It was quite a bit larger than Harry's and was furnished with a sizeable bed, some shelves which contained assorted records and Dudley's old comics, a wardrobe, and some expensive-looking electronics. A music system, a TV, a computer...

Harry turned around to leave, but then his curiosity got the better of him. He entered the room and considered the computer. Harry knew a bit about those from his classes back in Muggle primary school, and he remembered his old classmates talking about something called the internet. According to them, all sorts of interesting stuff could be found there. Perhaps it would be enough to keep his mind off darker things.

Decision made, Harry pressed the power button and was pleased to see that the machine was booting up. When it was finished, he sat on the surprisingly comfortable chair and went for the familiar Internet Explorer icon. A website called MSN opened up, offering him to do a web search. Now, what should he look for first?

The young wizard leaned back on the chair, trying to figure out what his biggest desire was right now. He didn't have to think very long. Reaching for the keyboard, he typed in:

"Sexy naked girls".

* * *

"OK guys listen up, I want groups 1 and 3 on the right side, 2 and 4 on the left. Group 5 is the add group. Until I have aggro, you are going to DPS very, very slowly. And by slowly I mean fucking slow!"

Harry sighed, annoyed at one of his online companions.

"No, Mogris, trust me. I've dealt with dragons before, all right?"

A brief pause in the conversation ensued, with Harry entirely focused on the action happening on the screen. He was leading a raid party in a new MMO that he purchased on his shopping trip a few days before. The food Dursleys had left him ran out in two days, so going to the nearest supermarket was a matter of survival.

"Adds about to spawn, stay in position so you don't aggro all of them at once".

The raid leader took a swig of an energy drink, but nearly spit it out as he saw what was happening in the game.

"Oh my god... He just ran in."

Furious button mashing, trying to fix the situation.

"Group 5, handle it! Now!" he ordered tersely. Things weren't going well though. His raid was wiping, and he doubted he would get a chance at leading another one after this fiasco. All because one fucking idiot.

"God dammit, Leeroy... You fucking moron."

Harry sighed, listening to his guildmates voice their complaints. The usual epithets of noob and scrub were tossed around, some in his direction. Harry felt his anger rise.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, you little prick. I'm in no mood for your bullshit."

"What the hell did you say?!" a voice behind Harry roared.

"I said," Harry shouted into the headset angrily, "shut the hell up before I..."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He really didn't want to turn around, but that was just delaying the inevitable.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia. Hi, Dudley."

* * *

All things considered, everything went better than expected. Harry was still alive, after all. His uncle flew into a fit of rage, shouting at the shocked teenager at full volume, his face redder than Harry thought was humanly possible. Vernon then dragged his nephew downstairs, and started a more coherent rant about how everything that was wrong in the world was Harry's fault. The usual, really.

"And don't think I'm not on to you, boy," the obese man snarled at Harry and pointed his finger right in the wizard's face. "I've taken a look at the water meter, and you used way too much!"

"Really, I don't even know why we put up with you," sniffed Petunia. "I've never seen a more ungrateful, shifty little..."

"Freak!" Vernon interrupted his wife, flying off the handle again. "A nasty little freak, that's what he is! I bet he looked at all sorts of vile, perverted things on Dudley's computer while we were away".

Harry's face colored a little. His uncle wasn't too much off the mark. Oh well, no choice but to use his trump card.

"I did in fact look up all sorts of things on the internet, uncle," said Harry calmly, speaking for the first time in the last ten minutes. "And the thing I learned was how to contact Child Protection Services".

Now that was a bombshell. Harry enjoyed watching his relatives sputter indignantly for a few moments.

"Preposterous-"

"There's no way they would-"

"Perhaps they'd be interested to hear how I lived in the cupboard under the stairs until I was twelve," Harry pressed on. "Perhaps I should tell them how you locked me in my room and put bars on my windows. Or how you attempt to deny my basic hygiene needs while Dudley gets to shower for as long as he wants".

Harry wasn't entirely sure this would work. He didn't think his case was strong enough, but he hoped the possibility of a scandal alone would give his aunt and uncle a scare.

His relatives didn't disappoint. Petunia bristled under the accusation, but stayed quiet. Vernon attempted to reason with him.

"Now, boy, you wouldn't really contact social services, would you?" his Uncle asked in what he probably considered a cordial tone.

"Of course not, uncle," Harry replied in an equally sweet voice. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement".

* * *

One hour later, Harry was back on his computer. He whistled a tune as he scoured the net for something useful. "Useful" in this case included everything from prank ideas to tips on self-defense. At first, Harry wanted to look for some neat things his friends would enjoy at the online shopping sites. That would have to wait, however, since he used up all of his measly "emergency fund" of Muggle money that he kept in his trunk to buy off Dursleys.

The agreement was fairly simple. Harry would buy the slightly outdated machine for two hundred pounds. He would also start paying a weekly rent. In return, the Dursleys would leave him to his own devices. That meant no more chores, no more getting on his case for no reason, and no harassing if he showered under hot water for longer than five minutes.

The fact that he had no Muggle money left was an issue, but it was nothing a quick trip to Gringotts wouldn't fix. As for the amount itself, Harry wasn't too concerned. If what he heard about the exchange rate from Muggleborn wizards back at Hogwarts was any indication, he should have no problems paying the rent for two months a year for the rest of his tuition.

Oooh, this prank looked like something Fred and George might be interested in. Harry got out his notebook and jotted a few lines. He turned around when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in."

"Harry," Aunt Petunia addressed him stiffly, "there doesn't seem to be any tissues left in the house. Did you use all three boxes?"

"...I, uh, I had a cold, Aunt Petunia".

* * *

There was some tension in the house during the next few days, but Petunia and Vernon adapted to their nephew's new status fairly quickly. It was amazing how well Harry and his relatives got along when they stopped pretending to be a family and agreed on a business-like relationship. Harry briefly wondered why Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, didn't think of such an arrangement, but decided to save that thought for later.

Harry quickly settled into a routine where he would wake up at noon, make his own food whenever he was hungry, and go to sleep at about 4 AM. He spent most of the time in his room, which seemed to suit the Dursleys just fine. A few days after the "incident", he made a quick trip via the Knight Bus to Gringotts, and exchanged enough of the golden Galeons into pounds to pay his rent and have some left for his own needs. It was about time he got some new Muggle clothes, and Harry was pretty sure that his old glasses needed replacing, too.

Most of his days (and nights) were spent on the internet. Harry was amazed at the wealth of information and entertainment available at his fingertips. He researched all sorts of things that he thought might help in the upcoming fight against Voldemort and his minions. Harry didn't learn anything in the way of magic spells, but he did find a treasure trove of info on Muggle weaponry and explosives, and printed everything that might be of use.

As for entertainment, Harry tried everything from movies to video games to anime. He also read quite a few sci-fi and fantasy stories available online, especially enjoying the fascinating ideas that Muggles had about magic. It helped him forget the whole Voldemort situation for days, and he found that he slept better when his head was filled with all the useless – but _awesome – _information after a busy day of doing nothing productive. Even Harry himself thought that this level of escapism was unhealthy, but it's not like he had an alternative. He doubted Dursleys would want to discuss Voldemort's resurrection and Harry's role in it, and he couldn't write about anything of important to his friends.

Speaking of which, Ron and Hermione did finally grace him with a letter (a single one from both of them) two weeks into the holiday. Short as it was, most of the message was a warning not to reveal any sensitive information via owl post. The rest hinted at his two friends being at a secret location, doing... secret things. Ron seemed particularly happy about knowing something Harry did not. Harry snorted his contempt and penned an equally uninspired reply.

He actually had more active correspondence going on with Fred and George. The Weasley twins were more than happy to listen to suggestions from their main investor, especially if they were actually good. He declined to inform them that most of his ideas were borrowed from the net.

As time went on, Harry ventured into the darker corners of the internet. He was shocked and disgusted at some of the things he found there – such as gore and human suffering - but for some perverse reason he just couldn't look away. As fucked up as it sounded, all those morbidly fascinating pictures and videos somehow helped Harry deal with what happened that night in the graveyard.

Harry's familiar routine was only interrupted at the beginning of August. He was owning some noobs at Counter Strike (everyone with half a brain knew that CS:GO was the best FPS ever, while CoD sucked ass) when he noticed an unusual chill in the room. He sighed, got up to put on a recently bought jumper, and went back to his game.

Ten minutes later, his hands were still freezing, and even started interfering with his aim. Unacceptable.

Grumbling about stingy, tight-fisted Dursleys, Harry lumbered down the stairs, expressing his displeasure by making as much noise as possible. The house's heating system was controlled from the kitchen, so that's where Harry was heading.

It was even colder downstairs. When Harry entered the kitchen he found his aunt nursing a cup of hot tea, while his dear uncle was looking at the heating control panel with a stumped expression on his face.

"I'm cold," Harry said in the way of a greeting.

Vernon just grunted in response, his face coloring slightly, and started stabbing the buttons on the thermostat with more force than was strictly necessary. Harry waited a few moments, but neither his aunt nor his uncle seemed interested in making a conversation, so he wandered over to the window and glanced at the thermometer.

"Well, it doesn't seem to be that cold outside," Harry started, when he noticed a familiar dark shape floating above the road, leaving slight wisps of fog in its wake. Harry swallowed. This was bad. This was really, really bad. He wasn't ready to go back to the crazyness of the Wizarding World yet. There was this sweet RPG called Mask of Betrayer that he really wanted to finish.

Checking his right pocket for his wand (it was there, thank Merlin), Harry tracked the Dementor through the window until it floated out of view. He then walked to briskly to the front door, and cracked it open just enough to poke his head outside. The holly wand was grasped firmly in his hand, a suitable memory already prepared.

Well, this was getting better and better.

There wasn't just one Dementor circling his house, but two; however, they didn't seem intent on attacking him, at least at the moment. A most unusual behaviour for a Dementor, as far as Harry was concerned. He frowned in thought: were these two creatures hunting him? Guarding him?

After a few minutes of observing the two Dementors moving around his house but never overstepping some invisible boundary, Harry closed the door and turned around. He was startled to see his relatives standing behind him, observing him in silence.

"Explain," barked Vernon, eyeing Harry's wand with apprehension. "Is your kind responsible for some unnatural happening again?"

"Well, uncle, the good news is, the thermostat isn't broken," replied Harry more cheerfully than he felt. "The bad news is... There are two Dementors circling this house, and I have no idea why".

Petunia's and Vernon's reactions couldn't have been more different. While his uncle just looked utterly confused at the news, his aunt paled and took a few steps back.

"What... What are they doing here?" she asked in a trembling voice. Both Vernon and Harry looked at her in shock.

"You know what Dementors are, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked incredulously.

She nodded mutely, then clarified, "I heard about them from Lilly. They guard the wiz... I mean, they guard your prison, don't they?"

Harry nodded, studying his aunt's face with interest. She seemed too afraid of what should have been just a name to her, a mere abstraction, but he didn't press for details.

Vernon, who had been rather comically gaping at them in turn, finally found his voice. "Well then, do something about it boy! These dementy-thingies are here for you, they must be, as the rest of us have nothing to do with your kind!"

Harry noted with satisfaction that his uncle was being a bit more civil, just like their agreement entailed. At least, the word "freak" no longer entered the conversation. Calling Harry by his name was beyond Vernon's abilities, he supposed.

Still, his uncle made a valid point. Harry realized perfectly well that the Dementors must have come for him – and he couldn't just leave them flying around Privet Drive as they pleased. The rest of his summer holidays were at stake. However, he had no idea what to do. The obvious solution would be informing Dumbledore, but he didn't want to risk Hedwig, and although he was aware of the possibility of using his Patronus to deliver messages, he had never done that before. Not to mention it would probably get him expelled from Hogwarts, as that would be his second offence.

The choice was soon made for him, however.

"Little Diddykins!" Petunia screeched somewhere in the whereabouts of his right ear.

Indeed, there his cousin was, waddling home along the pavement and paying no attention to the dark figures swooping above the house. Harry watched in fascination as the Dementors stopped their circling and turned towards the approaching boy. They looked like predators who had just sensed their prey. "Big D" stopped and shuddered as the cloaked monsters drew closer.

"What is going on?" Petunia asked fearfully.

"I think the Dementors are about to suck Dudley's soul out," Harry reported dutifully.

"But.. You have to save him!" Petunia shouted, gripping Harry's shoulder with surprising strength and causing him to wince.

"I don't know..." he drawled, watching the Dementors grab Dudley with their slimy, rotten hands. "I would have to do magic, and I'd get in trouble for that."

"You will help Dudley if you know what's good for you, boy!" Vernon roared, concern for his son overcoming his fear of magic.

"Please, Harry," pleaded Aunt Petunia, watching Dudley getting choked by the invisible hands squeezing his neck.

"Oh, very well," Harry murmured, resigned. "Expecto Patronum!"

* * *

A/N: I had originally planned for this to be a full-blown story, but the more I wrote, the more I realized that I probably won't be able to pull it off. I wasn't sure where I was going with this except for "cram as many references in there as possible", and most of my writing seemed forced and unfunny on a second read. So what I'm going to do instead is slowly write out only my favorite ideas, thus avoiding pointless filler. This stuff is _still_ going to be completely silly, however.


	2. 12 Grimmauld Place

"So this is it, huh?" asked Tonks, looking around. "Home of the great Harry Potter. I was expecting something more, I don't know..."

"Impressive?" Remus Lupin suggested with a faint smile. "I told you Harry lived with everyday, ordinary Muggles."

"I know, but this is too ordinary even by Muggle standards." Tonks was scowling at the squeaky-clean kitchen as if it had offended her personally.

"Enough chatter," growled Moody from his place at the table. "Why don't you go and get the boy, lass, while we secure the area." His eye was spinning around wildly, no doubt searching the cupboards and the oven for potential enemies.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Sure, whatever. Make the youngest member do all the work." Her complaints didn't sound entirely sincere, however – the young Auror was quite looking forward in meeting the Boy-Who-Lived.

She climbed the stairs two at a time and knocked at the door which had light coming out from underneath it. Hearing no answer, Tonks threw the door open and stepped in.

"Wotcher, Harry!" she greeted the boy brightly, before noticing the position he was in. She stared for a few long, awkward seconds, her hair cycling through random colors without her conscious effort, then forced herself to turn around, walked out of the room, and shut the door. Her face was hot with embarrassment.

"Sorry, Harry," she squeaked through the door. "Just come down when you're... ready."

Tonks was met with expectant looks from the other eight members downstairs. For once, she was grateful for Moody's paranoia: the man had insisted on keeping the lights off, and her blush wasn't too noticeable in the twilight.

"Where's Potter, then?" Kingsley asked eagerly.

"Harry's, uh, a little busy at the moment. I kind of walked in on him polishing his wand." Good job Tonks, you almost sounded normal here.

"Good on him," grunted Moody approvingly. "Taking care of one's wand is important."

"That's not what I... Um, never mind."

* * *

To her immense relief, things went much smoother from there on. They managed to pack Harry's things and take off without too much trouble. The only snag was Harry's surprising reluctance to leave the house. She thought it strange because Remus had told her the boy treated Privet Drive #4 like a prison of sorts.

Tonks still couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes without getting all red-faced, and mentally scolded herself. She was the adult here, after all. The poor kid was probably a lot more embarrassed than she was.

Tonks broke formation and inched towards Harry as they were nearing London. She took her wand out and cast a quick charm for privacy.

"Hey, Harry. I wanted to apologize for walking in on you like that," she began, a little hesitantly.

"It's no big deal," answered Harry bashfully.

"Still, I'm sorry. And I bet it was quite a shock," she added, attempting to make light of it. "You didn't even try to hide or cover up!"

Harry muttered something under his breath. Tonks didn't quite catch it, but she thought she heard something about establishing dominance. Weird.

"That is a damn nice broom," she said wistfully, trying to change the awkward topic. "I wish I had a Firebolt."

"I'll give you a ride anytime you want to feel real power between your legs," Harry offered cheekily.

Tonks blinked. Was the kid actually flirting with her? Harry Potter turned out to be full of surprises.

She could play that game, too. Tonks closed the gap between them and grinned at Harry.

"Why, Harry, I'd love to ride your broomstick."

* * *

As soon as he stepped into 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry was nearly knocked off his feet as a certain bushy-haired girl ran up and wrapped her arms around him.

"Harry! I've missed you so much!"

"Hey, Hermione."

"I hope you're not too angry about us not writing to you," she said apologetically, withdrawing from the hug. "We wanted to, but Dumbledore forbade us."

"We didn't have much time to write, anyway," interjected Ron from behind Hermione. "We had to work on, you know, secret Order stuff."

Harry shrugged dismissively. "Whatever, guys. I was so busy, I never really noticed."

"Busy? With what?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Gaming, eating, fapping, sleeping. Not necessarily in that order."

"Oh... Wait, what?"

* * *

Harry was shut up in his room reading a fantasy novel, grateful for his foresight to bring some reading material. He didn't expect Order HQ to be so boring. Exploring the house was out of the question for now, as it was deemed "too dangerous" by the bristling Molly Weasley, and the areas of interest like the kitchen and the library were currently occupied by Order members. And there were only so many times he could watch Ron and Hermione bicker about stupid, unimportant shit until it stopped being entertaining. That only left him with the option of reading "Horror, Humor, And Heroes", which admittedly was time well spent.

He was called down to dinner an indeterminate amount of time later and trudged down the stairs, paying no attention to Ron and Hermione, who were following him and arguing about veganism or animal rights or whatever.

The food was excellent, at least, and well worth the journey downstairs. Harry had been subsisting on ramen and soda for nearly a month, so he rather enjoyed a real, hot meal. He didn't really pay much attention to the lively conversation at the table, but something happened towards the end of the dinner that shook him out of his reverie.

"Do a pig's nose next!" Ginny giggled at Tonks, who screwed up her eyes and obligingly grew a pig snout.

"Holy. Shit."

"Language, Harry!"

"Language, young man!"

Ignoring the admonitions, Harry stared at Tonks with such intensity that it made the young woman squirm under his gaze.

"What... What is it, Harry?"

"Can you turn into another person?"

"Well..." Tonks studied Hermione for a few seconds, then morphed into an exact copy of the girl. "Does that answer your question?"

"Bloody brilliant," Harry breathed out, earning more rebukes from Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. "I'll be right back! Don't got anywhere!" And he bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Coming back five minutes later, he found a much emptier kitchen with only Tonks, Ron, and Hermione waiting for him. He thrust a magazine under the Metamorph's nose without any ceremony.

"Her," he uttered reverently. "Please do her."

Tonks eyed the photo of a scantily-clad brunette with a stunning figure and sighed. "All right, but just this once."

"Whoa," Harry gasped at the beautiful young woman which looked so out of place in the gloomy kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. Hermione glared at Harry angrily, but Ron was admiring Tonks' assets just like Harry was.

Seeing the reactions of her male audience, Tonks smirked and spun around, giving them the full view. "Like what you see, boys?"

"Hell yeah," Harry agreed enthusiastically, extending his hand.

"Bad Harry! No touching," Tonks scolded, smacking Harry's hand away.

Harry scowled. "I had to know... For science."

"Why, hello there!" Sirius entered the room and leered at Tonks. "Who's your hot girlfriend, Harry?"

"It's me, _cousin_, so hold your horses."

"As if that would stop a pureblood like me," Sirius gloated, giving Tonks a saucy wink.

"Ew, disgusting." Tonks gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Still, I think I've seen this girl you're imitating somewhere," Sirius pondered, running his eyes over his cousin's nubile body.

"Isis Taylor," whispered Harry to his godfather.

"Really? Damn, nice job, kid!"

Sirius high-fived Harry and both started sniggering while giving Tonks lecherous looks. She decided that she'd had enough and assumed her original form with a huff.

"All right, Harry, so who did you make me transform into?"

"Just this actress I'm a fan of," Harry answered dismissively, keeping his poker face on. "Anyway, thanks for the material, Tonks. I'll, uh, go take a shower now."

"Say, Harry, would you lend me that magazine of yours?" Ron asked hopefully. He had been trying to get a peek inside for the last five minutes without looking like he was too interested.

"Sure." Harry handed it over before leaving. "Just don't bother returning it. Seriously."

"Thanks, mate!" Ron grinned and promptly left as well, completely ignoring Hermione who had been sending him nasty looks.

Hermione watched the boys leave, completely speechless, before exploding.

"Am I the only sane person left in this house?!"


	3. The Hearing

"...Prosecution: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister..."

As Fudge droned on, Harry fidgeted on the uncomfortable chair in the middle of the dark dungeon and tried his best to suppress a yawn. It wouldn't do to be declared in contempt of the court, even if contempt was all he felt towards the poncy Ministry officials.

"...As defense attorney failed to arrive on time, the accused shall have to speak for himself," Fudge finished, sounding positively gleeful.

Harry snorted in disgust. He knew very well the reason Dumbledore wasn't here: Fudge decided to change the time of the hearing practically at the last minute. He didn't think he needed the Headmaster to deal with this fabricated case, however.

"The charges are as follows: the accused knowingly and willfully violated the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by casting the Patronus Charm in front of Muggles-"

"Objection!" Harry shouted, standing up and pointing his index finger at the Minister.

"W-what?" Fudge sputtered, losing his arrogant smirk and dropping the parchment he was reading from.

"Families of Muggleborn students are allowed to know about magic. As such, while I might have violated the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, doing magic in front of my uncle, aunt, and cousin does not violate the International Statute of Secrecy."

"B-but... Amelia?"

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter," Amelia Bones cut in smoothly, "Your rather impressive Patronus Charm was also seen by two of your neighbours. We had to send out Obliviators to deal with the mess."

"Oh." Harry collapsed back on the chair, mentally cursing the nosy housewives of Privet Drive.

It took Fudge a minute or two to regain his composure and start rattling off charges again. He was glaring at Harry as if daring him to say something. Harry just gave the man a cheeky smile.

"...Not only the accused intentionally performed magic in the presence of Muggles on August 2nd, this is not his first violation of this kind! Our records show that Harry Potter was issued an official warning on 31st July, 1992 for illegal use of a Hover Charm..."

"Objection!" Harry leaped to his feat, striking the same pose again.

"What now?" bellowed Fudge, losing his trail of thought again.

"The said Hover Charm was performed by House Elf Dobby. I went to the Ministry afterwards to give testimony and get my wand checked. I was told the warning would be removed from my record."

"It's true, Minister," Amelia Bones interjected again, perusing her own papers. "That warning should have been stricken from records a long time ago."

"Ah... A mere oversight, I'm sure," Fudge replied, not too happy about getting the wind knocked out of his sails. "Still, that does not change the fact that the accused knew very well of the consequences of doing magic in a Muggle-inhabited area. That Mr. Potter knowingly disregarded the law tells us much about his character..."

Amelia Bones frowned and looked like she was about to say something to Fudge, but Harry was faster.

"Objection!" He jumped to his feet a third time.

"Stop this nonsense, Mr. Potter!" Fudge screamed, incensed.

"Hem, hem."

"Yes, Dolores?" the portly man snapped at the equally fleshy witch seated to his left.

"If I might make a suggestion, Minister," the plump witch spoke in a simpering voice, "perhaps the boy should be restrained as to not cause a scene again."

"Excellent idea, Dolores," Fudge smiled malevolently, ignoring the vocal protestations from Madam Bones and the audible murmurs among the rest of the Wizengamot. "Aurors! Apply the chains."

Harry watched dispassionately as two Aurors walked up to him and waved their wands. Multiple chains snaked up his arms and legs, binding him to the chair quite snugly.

"Sorry, kid, just following orders," one of the men whispered before leaving. Harry nodded, not really feeling any ire at the wizard. His anger was aimed at the Minister and his toady instead.

"Do you really think these chains will hold me, Minister?" Harry growled menacingly. It might have sounded more intimidating, had his voice not broken halfway through the sentence.

"Er... Well, yes, I believe so," Fudge replied, clearly confused.

Harry roared and struggled against the chains using the full might of his scrawny teenage muscles. To no one's surprise, the magically strengthened metal failed to yield. He slumped back into the uncomfortable wooden chair, ignoring the alarmed and bemused stares the Wizengamot members were giving him.

"I guess they will," Harry allowed.

The British Minister for Magic stared at Harry as if he had grown a second head. It took him a while to gather his thoughts and start the questioning.

"You are Harry James Potter, current residence number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

"Sure am," Harry replied cheerfully, observing Fudge's twitching left eyebrow. He congratulated himself on successfully giving the Minister a nervous tic.

"Did you conjure a Patronus Charm on the evening of the second of August?"

"Yep."

"You did this in a Muggle neighbourhood, in the presence of Muggles, and knowing full well that you are not permitted to do magic outside school until you're of age?"

"Yes," Harry agreed amiably. Just as Fudge opened his mouth to speak again, he added, "I did it to defend my cousin from the Dementors."

Rable, rable, rable. Harry amused himself by making faces at Umbridge while Fudge calmed down the Wizengamot.

"I can't say I didn't expect something like this," Fudge said, smirking at Harry superciliously. "A convenient story, indeed. There just happen to be no witnesses, and-"

"I would like to submit my Pensieve memories and testimony under Veritaserum as evidence," Harry stated firmly.

"Well. Well!" Fudge rubbed his hands together, thinking he was finally going to get his way and expose Potter as an attention-seeking brat. "Scribe, note that the defendant volunteered to take Veritaserum. Aurors, prepare..."

"A moment, if you will, Minister," a smooth voice sounded from one of the back seats. Harry narrowed his eyes and tensed up. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Oddly enough, Fudge didn't appear that displeased when it was one of his biggest financial backers interrupting him. Surprise, surprise.

"Mr. Potter is still under-age, and I don't believe his misconduct warrants the use of Veritaserum. After all, it is usually reserved for hardened criminals, not children with overactive imaginations."

Harry stared straight into Malfoy's cold eyes and felt fury overtake him. He knew very well why the man didn't want him taking Veritaserum. The potion made one unable to tell lies, but the affected person could still formulate his answers any way he wished. Malfoy was clearly afraid Harry was going to blurt out something related to Voldemort's resurrection, as well as his own participation in the welcoming party that followed.

Harry swore, right then and there, that he was going to wipe that smirk off the arrogant bastard's face... Permanently. Lucius Malfoy was dead. He just didn't know it yet.

Fudge sighed, accepting the argument. "You have a point, Mr. Malfoy. It's best we don't waste an expensive substance like Veritaserum on a case like this. Aurors! Prepare the Pensieve."

The same two red-robed men wheeled in a heavy desk with a large Pensieve on top. Harry was told to think of the evening the Dementors "allegedly" attacked his cousin, while one of the Aurors extracted the memory using his wand. The memory was then projected much like a hologram for the whole Wizengamot to see. Predictably, it started a shitstorm.

"But... But... It must be faked!" cried Fudge.

"I sincerely doubt a fifteen year old wizard is capable of such a feat," Amelia Bones shot him down derisively. "Even a Master Occlumens would have trouble..."

"Mr. Potter is clearly a very sick boy," Umbridge butted in with her opinion. "He must sincerely believe that was what he saw..."

"You are hardly qualified to judge someone's mental state, Madam Umbridge!" Amelia Bones cut the self-important woman off. Harry found himself liking this stern witch more and more. "If the court shall decide that a medical expertise is needed to evaluate Mr. Potter, we'll have to adjourn until later date. I don't personally believe that will be necessary, however. A much more important question here is what were two wardens of Azkaban doing in a Muggle neighbourhood?"

Harry yawned openly as the Wizengamot descended into chaos. No one paid him any attention anymore, except that weird toad woman. She kept looking at him and smiling creepily. Harry pointedly stared back until she averted her eyes. Dominance, established.

By the time Fudge and Bones managed to return a semblance of order to the courtroom, Harry's back was stiff from being forced to sit in the same position. He squirmed and rattled his chains as Fudge grudgingly declared, "Harry Potter... Cleared of all charges."

"You are free to go, young man," Bones said more kindly. "I assure you, we are going to look into the matter of rogue Dementors."

"Thank you, Madam Bones." Harry watched the chains retract on their own and stood up as soon as he was freed. "Guess they didn't hold me for very long after all, eh, Minister?"

Harry exited the gloomy courtroom with a whistle. An anxious Mr. Weasley and a slightly windswept-looking Dumbledore were waiting for him outside.

"You're late, sir," Harry accused.

"Ah, my boy," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I'll have you know, a wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to."

"You got me there, sir."


	4. Hogwarts Express

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were having quite a good time playing cards on the Hogwarts Express. They settled on Exploding Snap after Harry failed to convince Hermione to play strip poker.

The trio ended up getting a whole compartment to themselves since Hannah Abbot had dragged Neville away asking him to explain stamens and pistils for her Herbology homework. Ron and Hermione were a bit awkward around Harry because of their new roles as Prefects, but Harry couldn't have cared less. He might have been a tad miffed about not getting the position before, but now he was just happy he didn't have even more troublesome responsibilities to deal with.

Of course, no good things last forever, and no Hogwarts Express ride would be complete without a visit from a certain blond Slytherin with a raging superiority complex. Draco chose to make his entrance when Harry was drawing a card, causing him to drop it and curse as it exploded inches away from his hand. Malfoy was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual, his shiny Prefect badge prominent on his chest.

"Potter," Draco spat. "Just wanted to give you a warning – you better watch yourself this year. Unlike Weasley and Mudblood here, you are not a Prefect. You will respect my authority."

Ignoring Draco's words completely, Harry took a small notebook out of his pocket and started writing in slow, exaggerated motions.

"Dear diary..."

Both of Harry's friends glanced over his shoulder curiously to see what he had written. Hermione covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, while Ron just howled with laughter.

"What are you laughing about, Weasley?" Malfoy demanded to know.

"Just about how much of a f-faggot you are, Malfoy," Ron managed to say while choking back laughter.

Draco narrowed his eyes and reached for his wand. "You will pay for this insult, Potter."

Harry pointed his own wand at Malfoy and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind when he saw the little faggot. "Meatspin!"

The effects were immediate. Draco yelped comically and grabbed his crotch.

"What... What did you do, Potter?!" he screeched.

Harry stared at his wand dumbly. What had just happened?

Getting no answer from Potter, Draco hightailed it, his minions following dumbly behind. Ron watched the retreat with his mouse agape, then clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Good show, mate! But what in the bloody blazes was that spell you cast?"

"You spin me right round baby, right round," murmured Harry under his breath. "I can't believe that shit worked."

"What?"

"I have no idea how he did it," Hermione interjected, "but I'm pretty sure he made Malfoy's... you know... willy, spin around." She blushed slightly, but managed to finish the sentence in her usual tone.

That finally snapped Harry out of his reverie. "Hermione? I don't believe it. A proper, strait-laced girl like you, watching dirty videos on the net?"

"My friend sent me the link. She told me it was a pro-vegetarian video. I didn't talk to her for a month afterwards," she replied with a huff.

"Hmm..." Harry noted Hermione was still blushing and refusing to meet his eyes. Perhaps she wasn't as strait-laced as he had thought.

Ron, however, had other things on his mind. He'd had a horrified, disgusted expression on his face since Hermione explained what Harry had done.

"Harry, mate, you indirectly touched Malfoy's wiener through your wand and magic. Don't you think that's kind of gay?" he asked in a concerned tone.

Harry snorted dismissively. "Don't you know anything? It's not gay as long as balls don't touch."

* * *

"I believe it's time to put on my robe and wizard hat," Harry announced as the train was nearing Hogwarts.

"I am so embarrassed about understanding that reference," Hermione mumbled with her face in her hands.

"You do? Maybe we can cyber sometime," Harry offered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione glared at him for a few moments, then sighed. "Honestly, Harry, you should have told me you had access to the Internet. We could have exchanged e-mails."

"Honestly, Hermione, no one capitalizes the internet anymore. Don't be such a noob. Let me guess, you're still using Internet Explorer?"

"I am, why?"

"I rest my case."

"What is this inter-thingy?" the only pureblood wizard in the compartment spoke up.

"Well, Ron, imagine a series of tubes..."

* * *

The last stretch of their journey to Hogwarts was to be undertaken using horseless carriages – except they weren't quite so horseless anymore. Harry stared at the winged skeletal creature harnessed to their coach and it stared right back at him. Probably. It was hard to tell with those creepy, milky-white eyes.

"Umm, guys? Dafuq is that thing?" he asked, not letting his eyes off the creature.

"Language, Harry."

"What thing, mate?"

"That," he pointed.

Hermione followed his gaze, then frowned confusedly. "What do you mean, Harry? There's nothing there. The carriage is pulling itself, same as always."

Ron just shifted away from the two of them, looking around to make sure no one saw his friend acting all barmy. Harry glared at him.

"That. The thing that looks like a starved pterodactyl with four legs."

"There's nothing there, Harry," Hermione repeated, sounding quite worried now.

"You... You mean neither of you can see it?" Harry asked his friends, completely bewildered and a more than a little troubled. If he started having hallucinations, he'd have preferred something more pleasant to the eye.

Ron and Hermione both shook their heads, looking at Harry with alarm.

"Don't worry, Harry Potter. I can see them too," a mellow voice spoke behind him.

Harry spun around. The owner of the voice was a cute girl with waist-length blonde hair, waif-like figure, and wide grey eyes. He was barely able to suppress an impulse to grab his chest and go "Hnnnnnng".

"Um... Who are you?"

"Luna Lovegood." The girl smiled, seemingly unaware of Harry's struggle. "I'm in Ravenclaw, a fourth-year."

"And you said you could see... That?" Harry pointed backwards over his shoulder.

"If you mean the thestral, I certainly can. Beautiful creatures, aren't they?"

"What are you two talking about?!" Hermione blustered. "The harness is empty!"

"Don't pay attention to her, Hermione," Ron said dismissively, not even bothering to lower his voice. "That's Loony Lovegood, she's usually talking nonsense."

Harry frowned. Ron was such a prick sometimes... Well, most of the time, really.

Thankfully, Luna didn't seem that upset. She leaned closer to Harry and said in stage whisper, "They still can't see the truth. The Organization has clouded their minds."

"Eh?... Oh!" Harry reeled back in realization, then schooled his features into an expression of dismay.

"I see. Does that mean that the Skuld protocol is now in effect?" he asked with utmost seriousness.

Luna nodded somberly. "Indeed it is, fellow initiate. We must monitor the situation carefully."

"I will stay in contact."

"El Psy Congroo," Luna replied, and bounded off.

It took unbelievable effort, but Harry managed to hide his smirk and present a mask of soberness to his friends as he turned around.

"Shall we?" he pointed to the carriage.

Ron and Hermione grilled him about his conversation with Luna on the ride to Hogwarts, but he was somehow able to deflect their questions while trying hard not to laugh the entire time. But the real fun started when Ron and Hermione decided to prove that there was nothing pulling the carriage – only to discover that while they couldn't _see _the thestrals, they were perfectly able to touch them.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered when his hand encountered invisible resistance, brushing against thestral's leathery side.

"What is- Eek!" Hermione shrieked as the thestral snorted at her mightily, messing up her hair. "Wha- wha- what is this thing, Harry? What did it do? How does it look?"

"You aren't ready, Hermione," Harry stated grimly. "If you saw it now, your mind wouldn't be able to process its otherworldly form, and you would go insane. If you really want to learn the truth... Ask Luna. But I warn you, it is a dark and dangerous path." He looked around theatricality before continuing. "We can't talk about this anymore. The Organization has ears everywhere. Make sure not to mention this conversation until I tell you it's safe."

Getting two dumb nods in return, Harry walked off to the Great Hall, sniggering all the way. Luna was pretty awesome... He had to get to know her better.


	5. The Welcoming Feast

The noise created by hundreds of excited students speaking to each other in the Great Hall of Hogwarts was overwhelming as usual. Harry caught himself narrowing his shoulders and ducking his head, and forced himself to look up and meet the curious stares head-on. He located an empty seat next to his dorm mates and joined them.

"Hey, Neville. Hey, Seamus. Hey, Token... Er, I mean, Dean."

Dean looked at him strangely, but shook his hand without comment. He then turned back to Seamus to continue their conversation.

"...So then I jump out of my plane and shoot that guy's jet with my rocket launcher! Rendezook, bitches!"

Harry perked up. "Oh, you guys game?" he cut in.

"Yeah, mate, you play Battlefield?" Seamus asked, sticking his head out from behind Dean.

"Sure, Battlefield's good," Harry replied with a grin. Thankfully it wasn't Call of Duty, and he welcomed the chance to talk to someone who had a clue about video games.

"Cool, which system have you got Harry?" Dean asked with interest.

"System?" Harry had a look of dawning horror on his face.

"We play on an Xbox, but Seamus has a PS3 as well," Dean informed him.

"Oh, hell no."

"What's your gamertag, Harry? Maybe we can play during the summer."

"No fucking way," Harry snapped, getting up. "Get away from me, you filthy console peasants."

"What's wrong with you, mate?" Confusion was evident in Seamus' voice.

"Talk to me when you're ready to embrace GabeN as your god and join the glorious PC gaming master race. Until then, I don't want to hear a word about your inferior graphics and autoaim shooters," Harry spat with disgust. Ignoring the incredulous looks, he got up and walked over to sit down with Ron and Hermione, who had arrived after him.

The rest of the feast proceeded in a much calmer manner. He ate his fill while half-heartedly listening to Ron and Hermione bicker. The only surprising thing to happen was his discovery that Dolores Umbridge (aka the toad bitch) from the hearing was apparently their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but when she droned on and on about traditions and whatnot, he was able to successfully ignore and even forget her thanks to his vast experience of tuning out annoying video game characters. Hermione was quite irritated to see neither him nor Ron paying any attention to the speech, but Harry had more important things on his mind.

Yes, he was too busy scoping out the Ravenclaw table to care about what some Ministry sycophant had to say. He caught the eye of a cute 8/10 Asian girl and she smiled at him. He couldn't look away, grinning like a fool in response. Man, Cho Chang was hot.

"Honestly, Harry, you should pay attention instead of ogling Cho," Hermione told him acidly. "The way Umbridge is talking, there are going to be some big changes at Hogwarts."

"I don't care," he said dismissively, causing Hermione to huff and turn away from him.

Umbridge finished yammering a minute later, and people started getting up. Harry stayed seated for a bit waiting for the initial rush to pass and psyching himself up. He had to talk to Cho and ask her out. Harry had a plan, too; he had watched lots of anime during the summer, so he figured he could impress Cho with his knowledge of Japanese language and culture.

Seeing Cho get up and start moving towards the exit of the Great Hall while chatting animatedly with a group of friends, Harry rose and followed, wiping his sweaty palms on his robes.

"H-hey, Cho," he greeted the pretty girl, mentally cursing his wavering voice. "Konnichiwa."

Cho smiled at him, then frowned as if confused by something. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Konnichiwa! Oh, wait, is it 'konbanwa' because it's the evening? Heh, heh..."

Cho's smile was nowhere to be found at this point, and her friends were observing the show gleefully. Harry wiped his palms again nervously. This wasn't going very well.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I don't know what you're talking about."

He suddenly got the weirdest urge to check his pockets for spaghetti. "I just wanted to greet you in Japanese, because, you know... You're really kawaii."

Cho scowled while her friends tittered behind her. "For your information, I'm British, although my ancestors are Chinese. Honestly, what is it with you Muggleborns and your obsessions?"

Harry winced. "Oh. S-sorry. I'll, uh, see you around then."

Cho snorted. "After this spectacle? I doubt it." She walked away quickly, her groupies following after and giggling.

Harry felt his face grow hot. "This must be how Ron felt when he tried to ask Fleur out," he murmured. His eyes darted around frantically, looking at the crowd. Some people looked rather amused, but most didn't seem to care, or indeed, give any indication they even noticed the scene that just unfolded. Everyone was just filling out of the Great Hall, ignoring Harry who stood smack middle in the doorway. He breathed easier.

It was then that his eyes landed on another Asian cutie. Su Li, also a Ravenclaw, was a quiet and reserved girl, and one of the top students in their year. Harry hesitated for a moment, then murmured, "in for a penny, in for a pound." Fighting the paralyzing fear, he approached her, still feeling an adrenaline high from earlier.

"Chinese, not Japanese," he murmured to himself. He then greeted her boisterously, "Ni hao!"

"Ni hao," she repeated quietly, her eyes wide in surprise.

"So, Su, how was your summer? I have to say, you look really great."

"T-thank you," the girl replied shyly, ducking her head. "It was all right."

Emboldened by his success so far, Harry plunged on. "I was wondering, would you like to go to the next Hogsmeade outing with me? We could get to know each other better, maybe grab some food..."

Su Li looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I... Um, my friend..."

"Oh, you already promised to go with someone else? Well, that's fine..." Harry was doing his best to not sound disappointed.

"No, it's not that. I mean, we don't really know each other, and... Would you mind if Lisa comes along, too?"

Harry would have found the Su's shyness adorable if he wasn't so nervous himself. It took his brain a minute to process her statement, but then he broke into a grin. Going to Hogsmeade with two good-looking girls didn't sound so bad.

"Sure, no problem. We'll iron out the details later, all right? Good night, Su."

"Good night," she replied in her soft voice. Harry gave her a huge smile and turned towards the staircase leading to the Gryffindor dorms. Ron was waiting for him at the base of the stairs.

"Blimey, Harry, did you just really ask out two girls in a row?"

"Listening in on me, eh, Ron?" Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "Yep, I sure did. Alpha as fuck, right?"

"I wish I had a girlfriend," Ron said wistfully. "How'd you pull it off, mate?"

"I gave that bitch a compliment. Bitches love compliments."

* * *

As it usually happens, Harry's life at Hogwarts took a nosedive after the rather exhilarating start. In hindsight, he really should have expected something to happen and ruin his date. Thus the morning of the first Hogsmeade trip found Harry in Professor McGonagall's office, pleading.

"Please, Professor," implored Harry. "I'll do twenty detentions with you. I'll even mark all the essays of lower year students so you don't have to."

McGonagall sighed and shook her head. "Tempting as that sounds, Mr. Potter, this isn't a negotiation. As I recall, you disrespected Professor Umbridge by calling her a – 'hamplanet', was it? While revoking your Hogsmeade privilege might seem harsh, she was well within her rights to do so."

"But, Professor! She was snarfing down cupcakes during class."

Minerva got a look of disgust on her face. "Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, you shouldn't disrespect your teachers. Besides, I couldn't overturn your punishment even if I wanted to. The newest _Educational Decree_ makes certain of that."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "So there's nothing you can do, Professor?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. I assure you, I share your frustration with that... with Professor Umbridge. Do try to keep your head down in her class and don't give her opportunity to punish you. Now, if you will excuse me... I'd really like to get a drink at the Three Broomsticks."

"Yes, Professor," Harry agreed glumly. Plans to get back at Umbridge were already swirling in his head.


	6. Quidditch

The morning of Gryffindor's first Quidditch match versus Slytherin, Ron walked down from the dorms to find Harry tinkering with his broomstick in the corner of the Common Room. Pieces of parchment and various books were strewn around liberally, and Harry was so absorbed in his task that he didn't see Ron until he greeted him.

"Morning, Harry."

"Morning, Ron," Gryffindor's star seeker replied distractedly, still poking the Firebolt with his wand. "Looking forward to the match?"

"Sure," Ron said a little nervously. "More importantly, mate, what are you doing with your Firebolt? It's not broken, is it?" he added anxiously.

"I hope not," Harry replied cheerfully. "I'm just trying to overclock it a little."

"Over-what?" Ron looked it over dubiously, but there was a distinct lack of clocks anywhere on the broom.

"Overclock – it means I'm trying to squeeze more juice out of this baby. There are all sorts of limiting charms built in for safely, but if I remove those, I think I can..."

"You're stripping charms from a _Firebolt_? The most expensive broomstick in the world?" Ron's voice was weak with horror, and he looked as if he had just watched You-Know-Who murder his entire family in front of his eyes. "Please tell me why you thought this was a good idea."

"Well, I thought I might get some more speed out of it, but it's mainly the fun of tinkering with stuff. The way all these charms are layered on top of each other, it's fascinating."

"You're turning into another Hermione," Ron groaned. "Just make sure your broom is still working when it's time to play, all right?"

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Harry said with bravado, then yelped as his latest poke caused the Firebolt to zap him with electricity.

"Merlin save us," muttered Ron.

* * *

If Ron was still concerned about Harry's broomstick, he forgot all about it by the time the team was preparing for the match, lost in his own worries. There was a palpable sense of excitement in the air, but Gryffindor's new Keeper was practically shaking with apprehension, and his face was ashen, a decidedly unusual look for the normally lively boy.

"You all right there, mate?" Harry slapped his best friend on the shoulder.

"I... I don't think I can do it, Harry!" Ron broke down. "I'm not feeling to well. Maybe McLaggen should take this one." His eyes were darting to the sides nervously, avoiding the gazes of his teammates.

Harry suddenly knew exactly what to say. "Look at me, Ron. Don't believe in yourself! Believe in me, who believes in you."

"W-what?"

"It is time!" declared Angelina loudly. "Come on, people, let's go."

"Wait..." Ron wailed, but no one heard him in the commotion made by seven boot-clad sets of feet. They left the lockers to the applause and cheers from the spectators; Harry himself was jittery with anticipation when Angelina and Montague shook hands and it was time to take off.

He flew up quickly but steadily, taking care not to push his overclocked Firebolt too hard from the get go. It felt like the broomstick mirrored his excitement, vibrating with barely restrained power. Harry made a few languid circles around the pitch, well above the plane that the Chasers and Beaters were playing in, searching for that golden glint but not really expecting to find it so early. He noticed Draco Malfoy was taking the opposite side of the field, a good tactic for when you didn't expect to outfly the opposing team's Seeker. Harry smirked.

He circled the pitch some more, doing an occasional barrel roll or an Immelmann turn to get a feel for the now-faster broom. He dove down a few times to scatter Slytherin's Chaser formations and bait Draco, but the ferret didn't bite, staying away and searching for the Snitch resolutely. In the meantime, things weren't going that well for the Gryffindor's inside players.

"Slytherin scores again! The score is now 80-20 to Slytherin!" Lee's mournful voice echoed throughout the field.

"Get your head in the game, Ron!" Angelina shouted angrily when their Keeper failed to make a save yet again.

Ron was red-faced now, and seemed to be sweating buckets. He actually managed to make one save somehow, but fumbled and dropped the Quaffle, allowing one of the Slytherin Chasers to grab it again. Harry sighed. He had to do something about this, or the snakes would win the game whether he caught the Snitch or not.

Being roughly in the middle of the pitch right then, he made a sharp turn towards the Gryffindor goal posts and accelerated. His sudden change of direction didn't go unnoticed by the commentator.

"...And Potter suddenly dives towards the Gryffindor's end of the field! Has he seen the Snitch?"

Harry aimed the front of the broom straight at his best mate who was hovering in front of the middle goal post, and put on some more speed. He could see Ron's eyes bulge comically in surprise, and his mouth open to say something.

"Ron! Let's see you clench those teeth!" Harry roared as he drew back his hand, still on a collision course with Gryffindor's Keeper. He dropped his speed rapidly when he was just a few feet away, and punched Ron in the face.

Harry's next words seemed oddly loud in the sudden silence. "Have you snapped out of it, mate? Because if you haven't, I can always deck you a few more times."

"N-no Harry, I'm good now..." stuttered Ron, too shocked to even get angry.

"Brilliant. Now let's win this!" And Harry zoomed away, climbing up to the typical Seeker altitude which gave him a better view of the whole pitch.

"Well, I don't know what the bloody hell just happened with Potter and Weasley there, but you can't foul your teammates, so the game continues," noted Jordan, clearly confused about the whole situation. "Slytherin in possession, Montague has the Quaffle, passes it to Warrington, who passes it back to Montague... Spinnet tries to intercept, but is nearly hit by a stray bludger – do your job, Weasleys! Montague reaches the scoring area unchecked, he shoots, and... Ronald Weasley makes the save! Unbelievable! Looks like Gryffindor is back in the game!"

Harry smiled inwardly and continued to take unhurried laps around the pitch, Malfoy almost mirroring his movements. Just a few minutes later, he noticed the telltale golden glint on the side opposite to him, almost directly below Malfoy. Taking care not to alert his opponent to his discovery, he continued flying in the same direction for a few seconds, watching Malfoy unknowingly put more distance between himself and the Snitch. Not being able to hold back anymore, he grabbed onto his broom firmly and shot towards the fluttering golden ball.

"It looks like Potter has seen the Snitch!" Lee's excited voice barely reached him through the whoosh of wind in his ears.

"Fuck you, Lee," he muttered, seeing how the commentator's words alerted Malfoy to the fact a few seconds before he would have caught on by himself. Now the blond ponce was diving down and towards the Snitch as well, and he was much closer to Harry.

But he had no Firebolt, nevermind a modified one. Harry leant forward and coaxed more speed out of his broomstick, accelerating faster and faster, until his eyes started watering and he could barely breathe due to the incoming rush of air. The protective charms, which normally took care of that, clearly weren't rated for this sort of speed. He flattened himself against the handle and struggled to extend one arm against the resistance of the wind.

Draco was nearly at the Snitch, his hand also reaching towards it, a triumphant expression on his face, when Harry Potter shot by like a Muggle rocket, taking the Snitch with him and causing Slytherin's Seeker to lose control of his broom in the turbulence Harry left in his wake. Draco could only gape dumbly as Harry whizzed right past the boundaries of the pitch, grazing against the wooden spectator stands with his left leg. He was finally able to slow down and turn around near the Forbidden Forest, and returned to the Quidditch pitch holding the Snitch up in his right hand, basking in the deafening cheers of the spectators.

Gryffindor's celebrations were short-lived. They barely had time to congratulate each other on a well-played game when they were interrupted by the signature cough of Hogwarts' most-hated teacher.

"Hem, hem."

"Oh, fuck me," groaned Harry Potter.

"Gladly," breathed one of the fangirls surrounding the team.

"Really?" perked up Harry. "Who said that?"

"Mr. Potter," Umbridge's acidly sweet voice silenced the crowd. "You should listen when your betters are speaking."

"So you're saying I shouldn't be listening to you?" Harry feigned confusion.

Even his jab didn't wipe the sickly smile of Umbridge's pasty face. "Impertinent as always, Mr. Potter. I don't think you will be in the mood to joke after I'm through with you. First, you will hand over that broom to me."

"Why should I?" Harry moved his Firebolt behind his back, and was heartened to see his team surrounding him in a show of support.

"The rules clearly state that only broomsticks made by certified manufacturers are to be used. In addition, tampering with broomsticks is also forbidden. It's for your own safety, you know; you could have seriously injured poor Mr. Malfoy, had you crashed into him at that speed."

"Did you or did you not tamper with your broom, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall cut into the conversation.

"Uh... Maybe a little," Harry admitted reluctantly. "I was just curious to see its full potential."

McGonagall frowned. "I see. I'm truly sorry, Mr. Potter, but Madam Umbridge is correct in this case. However, _I_ shall be the one to hold on to your broom until this matter is resolved."

"Sure, Professor, you can hold my broom any time," Harry said cheekily.

"Mr. Potter!" Minerva pursed her lips and pretended she wasn't blushing.

"Hem, hem. That is not all, Mr. Potter. After that appalling behaviour you demonstrated on the pitch – punching a fellow athlete, and your own teammate, no less – I'm afraid I have no choice but to ban you from playing ever again." Umbridge smiled predatorily as she delivered the final line. Harry thought she actually looked aroused at the thought of causing him misery, and shuddered at the idea.

Indignant shouts greeted the High Inquisitor's words, McGonagall's voice among them. Even Ron stood up for Harry, despite still sporting a swollen cheek.

"I would have punched him myself if Harry didn't," declared Angelina.

"We were about to-"

"Clobber him on the head with our bats," agreed the Weasley twins.

"I see," Umbridge stated grimly. "The problem is more deeply ingrained than I thought. Then I have no choice but to disband the Gryffindor Quidditch team until further notice."

The furious shouts were near deafening this time, but all they managed to do was make Umbridge smile even wider. Harry just stared at her, not saying anything. This was really the final straw. He had to select a suitable plan and act.

But first, he had to visit the hospital wing to get his leg looked at.


	7. Hospital Wing

Madam Pomfrey, being the experienced school nurse that she was, knew exactly what to expect after a Quidditch match, as well as the best way to deal with a large group of lightly injured students. Most scrapes and bruises (including Ron's swollen cheek, for which Harry gave him an apologetic look) took her mere moments to fix, and even healing one of the Slytherin Chasers who broke his ribs didn't take very long. Harry hung back and let the Healer do her work until he was the only one left in the hospital wing – barring Katie Bell, who turned out to have suffered a mild concussion and was currently confined to a bed.

"Mr. Potter, no surprise there," Pomfrey grumbled good-naturedly. "What ails you?"

"Scraped my leg," Harry explained.

The healer tutted at the sight. Harry's pants were torn on the side where his leg made contact with the spectator stands, and he was bleeding from multiple shallow cuts. She vanished the ruined garment altogether and cleaned the wound before applying some pleasantly smelling poultice to it.

"That will do it for the cuts, but you have some severe bruising, young man. I'm surprised you managed to walk up here on your own."

"It hurt to walk, so I put a Numbing Charm on it."

Pomfrey sighed. "You really should have asked your friends to float you up here. Well, no matter. This healing potion will fix you right up."

Harry eyed the phial that was handed to him with suspicion. "Are you sure this is a _healing_ potion, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter."

"Why is it _blue_? Shouldn't it be red?"

"Mr. Potter, I have been a certified Healer for several decades now. I assure you, that is a healing potion. Now drink it so I can have my tea break."

"That makes no sense whatsoever," Harry muttered under his breath, but downed the bitter-tasting liquid.

The matron nodded approvingly. "Let it work for half an hour, then you can go." She turned towards the other occupied bed. "Same to you, young lady, unless you still feel dizzy by that time."

"Got it," Katie replied cheerfully. She turned towards Harry and beamed, still high on the thrill of victory. "Good game, eh, Harry?"

"Brilliant," he agreed. "I just hope it's not our last one."

"Nah, don't worry. McGonagall loves Quidditch just as much as we do. I'm sure she'll get Umbridge to reform our team."

Harry wasn't so certain, but he didn't want to ruin Katie's good mood, so he didn't say anything. After a few minutes of companionable silence, it occurred to him to ask his teammate about something that had been bothering him since the end of the game.

"So, Katie, do you know why McGonagall had to confiscate my broom? Seems like a silly rule to me," Harry inquired, more curious than angry. He was expecting his Head of the House to give his Firebolt back any time now, after all.

"I think the school was forced to add that rule because of pressure from broomstick manufacturers," Katie explained promptly. "It's actually against the law to make any modifications to your broomstick, you know."

Harry was outraged. "Seriously? But it's my broomstick! It cost like four hundred galleons!" Of course, Sirius was the one that actually paid for it, but that wasn't the crux of the matter.

"Well, it's yours to use, but not to modify, tinker with, alter, or make copies of, if I remember the wording correctly. All of this should have been in the sales agreement you signed."

Oh yeah, Sirius mentioned that to him in passing. "Aren't those things like 30 pages of small print that no one ever reads?"

"Yup. You're lucky you didn't give them your soul or firstborn child, really."

Harry groaned. "I guess greedy corporations are the same everywhere."

* * *

Poppy was relaxing in her office with a nice mug of hot tea. The hospital wing was blessedly empty, the last Quidditch victims finally taken care of. She set the cup down with a sigh when a bell on her desk went off, and stuck her head through the office door to see who had entered her realm.

"Back so soon, Mr. Potter?" she asked, not too concerned. The boy was moving on his own power, so he couldn't have been hurt too much. "Is your leg still bothering you?"

"No, nothing like that, Madam. It's just, well, I heard something interesting from Hermione. She said you could measure power levels."

"If you mean magical cores, then yes, I can do that."

"Could you measure mine?"

"I suppose that would be fine, Mr. Potter, but why?"

"Just curious about how strong I am. Why isn't this done routinely?"

"There's just no point, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey explained while digging through a cupboard for the rarely used item. "Even the weakest wizard can adequately perform most of the spellwork taught at Hogwarts. It's the repeated casting that can be a problem. We mostly use this device to diagnose magical exhaustion, although that's a very rare occurrence."

The device in question looked like a rather fancy monocle with a golden frame and several dials. The nurse turned the largest of them and then simply looked at Harry through the glass.

"Well, your core is currently at about 1,000 thaums. I daresay you are going to be quite a powerful wizard when you come of age, Mr. Potter."

Oddly enough, the boy didn't seem too happy about it. He frowned and deliberated for a minute, then told Pomfrey that he'd come back in a few minutes and to please not put the magimeter away. She just shook her head at Potter's weird behaviour and went back to her office to finish her tea.

True to his word, the young wizard did come back in a few minutes, although the school nurse had to do a double take at his appearance. Harry seemed to have dyed his hair yellow and spiked it up to the point where it looked quite ridiculous. Ignoring her raised eyebrows, the boy started flexing his muscles and... groaning?

"_Mr_. Potter, do you require a mental evaluation?" Pomfrey asked in a raised voice.

"I'm fine," Harry grunted back. "Do it... Measure me... Now."

Pomfrey raised her hands in exasperation, but acquiesced. Somehow it seemed easier to just go with it, and, unlike the Headmaster, she had no qualms about choosing the easy way out. Raising the magimeter to her right eye, she fiddled with the dial, then stared at the straining figure.

"My word," she whispered in shock. "It's... It's over nine thousand!"

"Fucking sweet!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "It worked!"

Pomfrey moved the magimeter away from her eye and looked at it intently, then facepalmed. Her inexperiece with the device was to blame.

"No, wait, Mr. Potter, I had it upside down. It's actually 1,006."

"Well, fuck."

"As a punishment for foul language, you will assist me in the hospital wing after class." Pomfrey did her best to hide her delight at getting some unpaid labour.

"Aww, fiddlesticks."


End file.
